Clearing the Bases One Last Time Apr 15 '11    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Mildred D. Taylor - Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry: A Literature Unit From $8 Olivier Dunrea - Ollie From $7 The Bottom Line It's time to say goodbye -- and good riddance -- to Manny Ramirez. At the top of his game, Manny Ramirez could swing a bat impossibly fast. The result was oftentimes a ball jetting off quickly over the fence. At the worst of his game, Manny could fail a drug test out of the blue. The latest result was him jetting off quickly into the sunset. He is gone now. Retired. Just like that. He tested positive again. The last time he failed an MLB drug test, he missed 50 games with the Dodgers. This time, he refused to miss 100 games in a Tampa Bay uniform. Instead, he will spend no time in an MLB uniform ever again. So, baseball fans will no longer be able to witness firsthand anymore of his unique brand of Mannyness – comprised of equal parts brilliance and nonsense. Gone are the fights with teammates and traveling secretaries. No more phantom injuries. No more late arrivals to Spring training. No more contract negotiation maneuvers. No more demands to be traded. And then there was his actual play, which was, in a word, mesmerizing. Nobody could field a ball, or not field a ball, quite like Manny. Too often, nobody could hit like him, either. His home run total stopped at 555, more than every MLB player ever except for a mere thirteen ahead of him on the all-time list. Truly, Manny could slug with the best of them. He had the talent and he had the swing. He could inject a team with instant offense, but he just couldn’t stop injecting himself with banned substances. Now, fans can say also goodbye to his stunning postseason play. He hit 29 home runs in the playoffs, more than any other MLB player in history, and yet, haven’t we all wondered what could have been if he had been capable of bringing that intensity every single day. Not only could Manny hit in the clutch, he could clear the bases in a heartbeat, often doing so with baseball’s most coveted hit: the grand slam. His 21 Salamis are second only to Lou Gehrig’s 23 in the annals of MLB. Manny seemed to play his best when the stage was bigger and the stakes were higher. Of course, that may be forgotten quickly in light of the lightning quick way he cleared the bases for good this time. (It was much faster than, say, the speed Ramirez would attain when he failed to properly run out an infield grounder.) Whether he hustled enough or was simply a hustler, ManRam was still an All-Star for most of his career. He had 12 appearances over the years, including a stint of eleven in a row. He ended his career with a lifetime .312 batting average, amassing 2,574 hits and 1,831 RBIs. He also earned two World Series Rings, a World Series MVP, 9 Silver Sluggers, 2 AL Hank Aaron Awards and one AL batting crown. The truth is, Manny always had enormous potential and when he used it, it was downright stunning how dangerous he was to the opposing team. When he failed to try his hardest, which was often, it was even more stunning how dangerous he was to his own team. And he had played on quite a few teams: Cleveland, Boston, the L.A. Dodgers, the Chicago White Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays. He always wore out his welcome. His last stop in Florida was his briefest. He only played five games, batted .059 with one home run — not exactly the kind of numbers you’d expect from a guy who earned almost $205 million in salary over the course of 18 MLB seasons. When you balance out all of the highs and lows, Manny was a superstar who put up Hall of Fame numbers. Nobody can take that away from him. But he was much more than that. He was a talented player who will forever be labeled as a cheat and a flake, a disappointment and a coward. His final message to the fans is a damning one: If you violate the laws of baseball, you don’t need to answer for your crimes. Just quit instead. By running away, he finally went too far. Manny Ramirez was once larger than life, larger than baseball even, but that isn’t true anymore. Now, he just seems so damn small. In fact, you could say his entire legacy has been reduced to the size of an asterisk.

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